


Cling To Each Other

by dumblebea



Category: DSMP - Fandom, Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: DSMP, DreamSMP - Freeform, Floris | Fundy-centric, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Protective Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28746600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumblebea/pseuds/dumblebea
Summary: Fundy hated the city.That was all there was to it.He hated how loud and dirty it was, he hated how vendors all shouted over each other to advertise their wares, he hated how the groups of children that ran rampant through the streets reminded him so vividly of himself and he definitely hated the predatory, visceral look in the eyes of the sketchy roamers who seemed to float aimlessly around the city.So, if someone had chanced to ask Fundy what he was doing in the city, he would be left without an answer.There was really no reason for a thirteen year old to be alone in the maelstrom of people, swept up in the overcrowded corners of urban hell. Especially not a quiet, scrawny foxboy of a thirteen year old. And yet here he was.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Technoblade, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 185





	1. Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work here, so it might be a bit rough- try to bear with me lol. This is 100% inspired by @technopog's post but I saw it and now here I am! My tumblr is @editorbea.

Fundy hated the city.

That was all there was to it.

He hated how loud and dirty it was, he hated how vendors all shouted over each other to advertise their wares, he hated how the groups of children that ran rampant through the streets reminded him so vividly of himself and he _definitely_ hated the predatory, visceral look in the eyes of the sketchy roamers who seemed to float aimlessly around the city.

So, if someone had chanced to ask Fundy what he was doing in the city, he would be left without an answer.

To be entirely fair, it could hardly be called a bustling metropolis-- the busiest part was downtown, which was only about 30 blocks in full, made up of a maze of buildings and streets and alleyways and empty lots full of stands and tents-- but still. There was really no reason for a thirteen year old to be alone in the maelstrom of people, swept up in the overcrowded corners of urban hell. Especially not a quiet, scrawny foxboy of a thirteen year old. And yet here he was.

Fundy pulled his jacket tighter about himself, pushing his hands deep into his pockets and wrapping shaky fingers around the small bag of coins inside. To say he was there unnecessarily wasn’t entirely true, he had gone to get potions. The problem was, he could _brew_ potions. He had all the materials, he had a brewing stand, and he’d taught himself to brew before he could even mount a horse. The true question, the one sitting in his mind like a block of lead, was why he went to the city. 

Something tugged at his jacket, snapping him out of his trance as he pulled away, sharp green eyes darting down to whatever had snagged him. 

It was a child. A small, dark-haired child who was staring up at him with wide eyes. They couldn't have been more than three or four years younger than Fundy, and they were only a few inches shorter.

Fundy blinked, stumbling to a stop. The people around him continued to move, oblivious to his encounter. 

The child tilted their head, holding out their hands as if asking for something.

Fundy felt a small lump rise in his throat. “I don’t have any money,” he lied. 

The kid lowered their hands, studying Fundy for a moment longer before turning and disappearing, darting away into the crowd. He felt the sudden urge to call out, to profess his lie, but he shrugged it off and kept moving. He just needed to find a potion vendor, then he could get the hell out of the city.

The city. _Man,_ he hated the city.

He could remember a time where he looked forward to visits.

He always felt so exposed. Despite his jeans, slightly-too-large t-shirt, bomber jacket, and fingerless gloves, _and_ being surrounded by countless people, he felt like he was being watched. More so than usual.

His ears twitched, and he frowned, pushing forward, straightening his posture in an attempt to see any sign that advertised potions. He wasn’t exactly tall for his age, and finding what he was looking for was always a struggle. 

He continued down the street for another 20 minutes, the strap on his canvas messenger bag digging into his shoulder even through his jacket. He hadn’t decided to leave his house until about 3 in the afternoon, so by the time he reached the city limits the sun was already turning the sky orange. By now, it was getting dark, the main source of light being the strings of lanterns over the street and the light from inside stands and tents. Eventually, he spotted a wooden sign, posted high in the air over a vendor tent, which was illuminated from the inside in soft multicolored tones. He heaved a sigh of relief, ducking through the crowd and slipping inside.

He instantly felt better as the press of people from all sides fell away, relaxing as he inhaled the mixed scents of all the potions. He always enjoyed potion shopping, even if it meant he had to crawl through hell to get to a shop. He liked how the glass bottles glowed and shimmered different colors, how the brewing stands always made the air feel warm and charged with energy. It felt strangely familiar.

The owner (or so Fundy assumed) barely looked up from his work when he walked in, giving him a momentary once-over before looking away. For all the bustle of the street just outside, Fundy would’ve assumed every shop was full, but there were only three other customers.

He perused the tables for a couple minutes. There were no Harming or Regeneration potions, which he had assumed would be the case since it was rather late in the day. He picked out a couple of Healing and Strength potions, and after a moment of thought a Night Vision for the ride home. He made his way to the front of the shop, carefully digging the coins out of his pocket and paying the alchemist before stowing the glowing vials in his bag and stepping back out into the street.

The crowd seemed even more oppressive after the warmth and coziness of the brewing tent, and Fundy had half a mind to turn around and go right back inside, but he restrained himself, slinking into the flow of the crowd. The sun was completely set by then, the wind picking up a hair-raising chill with no sunlight to quell it. Fundy clutched his bag closer, cursing his poor foresight. If the city in the day was hell, the nightlife was the ninth circle.

He crossed the street to where traffic was flowing in the opposite direction, heading back the way he came. He walked for almost ten minutes in a bit of a daze, mind shutting down and going on autopilot as it always seemed to do whenever he was overwhelmed.

 _Didn’t I take a turn on the walk here?_ Fundy stopped in his tracks, the person behind him promptly running into him and cursing profusely. Fundy barely heard them, his mind tearing itself into action. He crossed the street again, going backwards. He took a turn on the walk here. He had certainly missed his turn. He must have, because he didn’t recognize the street he was on. He walked in the opposite direction for longer than he wanted to acknowledge. He still didn’t recognize anything, and, worse yet, he couldn’t see the potions tent. He darted out of foot traffic, pressing his back to the cold brick of a storefront. _Think. Think!_ He tried to calm his breathing. Panicking wouldn’t help anything. He knew that; he was acutely aware of that, in fact…

Fundy dug his fingernails into his palms, shutting his eyes to block out the world. He wanted so dearly to be home. He rushed back into the crowd, moving twice as fast as before, weaving around people and rushing down the street in one direction. When the terrain remained unrecognizable, he turned down another street, demanding that something he knew reveal itself to him. When it did not, he turned again, thoughtlessly losing himself in the city. His mind became louder and louder, the static turning up like a radio and drowning out the sound of the city, which was growing quieter by the moment as people went home. 

Fundy got tired. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been running for, but he knew that his throat and lungs stung, and that his eyes were watering, and that he could barely feel his fingers, and that he was shaking like a leaf in his jacket, although whether that was from the wind chill or panic he was unsure.

He sank into a heap on the cement steps in front of a store, the windows of which were dark with inactivity. He pulled his knees to his chest, dropping his head onto them and letting out the choked beginning of a sob. 

He sat there for a while, the cold sting of the ground soaking through his jeans and seeping into his bones, wrestling with his mind. When he finally moved, it was a jolt.

He flinched away from a hand, placed firmly on his back. He stared wildly into the face of a man. A very tall, very broadly shouldered man. Fundy straightened, leaning away from him warily.

“You alright, son?” The man had a strange accent, slightly guttural in nature. He had a golden hoop in his right ear and a big leather jacket. He smelled like fire.

Fundy opened his mouth, unable to find the words, and for a moment, he was reminded of the kid he had met earlier that day. _I don’t have any money._

“Are you lost?” The man backed up a step, holding out his hand. “C’mon, I can get you home. I know these streets like the back of my hand.” 

Fundy wanted to say no. To emulate the teachings he had heard over and over again. To not go places with strangers, to not trust people, to never ever talk to the people in the city streets. They were always rules he had followed, despite never quite remembering where they came from.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took the man’s hand.


	2. And In The Darkness, I Find You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other boy looked Fundy up and down, and exhaled. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”  
> He shook his head.  
> “Didn’t think so.” He leaned forward, holding out his hand.  
> Fundy stared at it. The formality of it seemed ridiculous, but he was nothing if impolite. He reached out, and shook it cautiously.  
> “I’m Techno,” the other boy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! TW for kidnapping in the first half of this one. I probably should've put the first half in the last chapter, but it worked out alright length-wise.

It didn’t take him long to realize he’d made a mistake. 

Fundy had never been stupid. Even in the earliest years of his youth (those he could remember, anyway), he had been quick, both in body and mind. He never remembered a time where he fussed or rushed into things or made impulsive, troublesome decisions. He had fallen victim to a lapse in judgement. Simple.

Unfortunately, this particular moment of adrenaline seemed to have teeth; sharp fangs that had dug themselves into Fundy’s arm and were now dragging him down a dark, shaded street in the middle of a city he decided he never wanted to visit again.

The man had large, heavy hands, one of which was woven with Fundy’s a bit tighter than he’d like. The streets were almost devoid of people now, but he still felt surrounded.

The air had gotten colder. Fundy was starting to think the wind had teeth, too. It seemed like everything was out to bite him.

The man turned a corner, and Fundy’s heart promptly leapt into his throat.

It was an alleyway. A long, narrow alleyway between two brick buildings, ending in an arched tunnel entrance that was so shrouded by darkness that it looked like one of the caves by Fundy’s house. He swallowed and dug his heels into the cement.

The man stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at Fundy. “Come on, kid.”

Fundy willed himself to speak. He couldn’t afford autopilot. Not now.

“I want to go home,” he managed through the lump of cotton that seemed to have settled in his throat. Alarm bells rung in the back of his head as his ears flattened against his head.

“I’m trying to get you there, aren’t I?” The man smiled again, the same way he had when he first approached Fundy. The gold in his ear shone brightly.

_ You alright, son? _

He shook his head, slowly pulling his arm towards his body. The man’s grip tightened. 

“I’m going home,” he repeated.

A twitch in a jaw muscle, the darting of eyes up and down the street, and then Fundy found himself tripping over his own feet, the hand now digging into his upper arm and tugging him towards the tunnel.

The swell in his throat grew, and then burst, and Fundy let out a cry-- desperation, terror, something of the like-- that was quickly silenced by the man’s other hand.

He bit down, tasting sweat and tobacco and smoke and blood, and he heard an angry curse before he went crashing to the ground.

Skin met pavement. More specifically, skull met pavement. 

He felt the heavy  _ crunch  _ of his potions as the vials shattered under his weight, his messenger bag pinned below him, but he barely noticed it through the ringing in his ears. He thought he could see stars.

He dully registered being hauled to his feet, the weight of his bag falling off of his shoulders. For some reason, that bothered him. Through a daze, he looked down at the ground, where the softly glowing potions were splattered across the pavement, mixed with something darker. 

That was his bag. He loved that bag. It was important to him, though at the moment he couldn’t remember why.

He opened his mouth to ask the man to pick it up, and then he was falling, falling into a void.

_ A warm smile. _

_ The gentle plucking of guitar strings. _

_ The tickle of grass on bare feet, and the glow of the sun as it rose over the trees. _

_ Kind words, small gifts. So much love. _

Fundy woke up with wet eyelashes. 

That was the second thing he noticed. The first was that he was still cold.

He blinked slowly, unsure of his surroundings. He was usually up before the sun, as he liked to go fishing early in the morning, so the darkness didn’t confuse him. He sat up slowly, goosebumps crawling up his arms. His head swam, his vision darkening around the edges for a moment, and his fingers dug into the mattress he sat on, trying to retain consciousness. After a moment, his eyes began to adjust, and Fundy could feel his pulse quicken.

He seemed to be in a cell. In the dim light emanating from a single lantern hanging from a wire, he could make out a floor, ceiling, and walls made from flat stone. After a few more moments, he noticed that one wall was made from iron bars, reaching from floor to ceiling.

Was he in jail? Had he done something wrong?

Slowly, his memories made their way back to him, accompanied by a dull pounding in his head. He remembered his mad dash through the city streets, collapsing on the sidewalk, and then… He grimaced, resting his head in his hands. He felt like crying, but that wouldn’t help anything. He needed to find a way out, not break down.

He slid off of the bed, instantly reaching for the wall. Dark spots appeared in his vision, and he implored his brain not to shut down. After a few moments, the dizziness faded. He had been in a bed-- although, “bed” might’ve been a poor word for it. 

It was a shoddy metal frame, four legs and a flat platform, with a plastic-covered mattress perched atop it. There didn’t seem to be a pillow, but a worn fleece blanket was folded up and placed at the foot of the bed. There was another cot identical to his across the room, although that one had two blankets-- one like his, and one made of a dark red material that looked far softer than whatever Fundy had.

Fundy approached the bars on the front of the cell. The holes between each bar were too small to fit his head through, but his hand fit easily. He felt around for a lock, or a handle, anything that he could jimmy or break.

Something slammed down the hallway to the left, the noise echoing sharply off of the cement walls and making Fundy wince, and suddenly the space outside the cell was filled with voices. He quickly pulled his arm inside, stumbling backwards and sitting down on the cot. 

The jumble of sound quickly approached his cell, and he squinted. He could make out smaller shapes-- other kids?-- walking mostly in pairs, accompanied by much taller figures. One stopped in front of his cell, and in the dim lamplight he could make out a human face, heavy-set and broad, much like the man that had taken him from the street. He stared at Fundy for a moment, then pushed something into the door. Fundy heard a sharp noise as the cell unlocked, and the human pushed the door open.

Fundy frowned--  _ am I leaving?--  _ and then someone stepped into the cell.

The door quickly shut behind the newcomer, the man re-locking it and moving on. Fundy blinked, watching them warily.

They stared at Fundy for a moment, before clearing their throat and moving to the bed opposite his, sitting down to face him.

“Sorry.”

“What?” Fundy wasn’t sure he’d heard the other correctly.

“Sorry,” they repeated. “Y’know, that you’re here?”

He found himself without a response.

“They picked you up last night, right? Must have, since you’re with me.”

“What do you mean?” Fundy crawled backwards until his back was pressed against the stone wall, studying the other kid with caution-- and it _was_ a kid. It must have been. He didn’t look much older than Fundy-- maybe by a couple years? He had light hair, though Fundy couldn’t quite make out the color, braided over one shoulder. His ears were pointed at the end, and he wore a loose white shirt, black pants and brown boots. He looked pale. He also looked very tired.

Fundy could relate. He was very, very tired.

“Last night there was someone different in here, and now you’re here. You look disoriented, so I assume you weren’t relocated from another cell. So: they picked you up last night.”

Fundy nodded. “Who’s they?”

That question seemed to confuse the other one a bit, but they answered nonetheless. “The Hounds. They kidnap hybrids off the streets.”

Fundy swallowed. “Oh.” He’d been kidnapped. He already knew that, obviously, but hearing it said out loud made his stomach turn to water. “Why?”

The other boy looked Fundy up and down, and exhaled. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Didn’t think so.” He leaned forward, holding out his hand.

Fundy stared at it. The formality of it seemed ridiculous, but he was nothing if impolite. He reached out, and shook it cautiously.

“I’m Techno,” the other boy said, sitting back against the wall, mirroring Fundy.

“Fundy,” he responded. 

“Well, Fundy, you’ve woken up at a very unfortunate time.”

“What time is it?”

“Bedtime,” Techno replied, and almost as if on cue, the lantern above their heads clicked off, casting them into total darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment and let me know what you think/leave suggestions if you feel like it <3


	3. Are You Gonna Eat That?

Fundy didn’t have nightmares.

Sometimes he had dreams, although they were usually abstract snippets of memory: scraps of warm days spent basking in the sun, listening to someone play music, hours spent inside watching rain trace veins down window panes, the glass fogging up with the warmth of the fire. 

Aside from that, his nights were spent uninterrupted.

For the first time that night, Fundy had a nightmare.

When he first shot awake, sheet tangled in his legs, face sticky with sweat, his mind was flooded with bloody images-- a view from high up in the air, staring down over a bleak battlefield littered with weapons and bodies, a hand heavy on his shoulder-- but by the time his quick, shallow breaths woke Techno, the dream had already fled his mind, tucked away in the rubble.

“It sounded pretty bad,” Techno mumbled in the darkness.

Fundy wasn’t sure how long he had been awake, but it felt like a couple hours. The lights were still off, but he could hear noises in other cells, so he reasoned that it must be closer to the morning. 

“And you’re sure you don’t remember any of it?”

He sighed, turning on his back. Both he and his cellmate had found sleep to be completely elusive after Fundy had woken them. Fundy had attempted to retreat back into the comfort of unconsciousness, but it seemed like Techno asked about the dream every ten minutes. It probably wasn’t that often, but the constant reaffirmation that he was forgetting something was… troubling.

“No.”

Techno was quiet for a moment.

“Well, you aren’t alone. Most kids get nightmares their first night in here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“The last kid in here got them almost every night.”

“Okay.”

“He-”

“Techno,” Fundy cut in. “How long until the lights come back on?”

The other voice hesitated for a moment before responding. “Not sure. Probably not long.”

_ Helpful.  _ Fundy restrained himself from saying something bitter. It most likely wasn’t a good idea to turn a potential ally against him.

He was right, anyway. Fundy took to counting the seconds in his head, and he reached somewhere in the seven hundreds when the lights clicked on.

He blinked, eyes watering a little in the sudden light, regardless of how dim it was, and turned to look at Techno, who had already pushed the blankets off and was reaching under the bed. 

“Rise and shine, mate. Big day today.”

Fundy was pretty sure he’d never been called  _ mate  _ in his life, but he shrugged it off, sitting up in bed. His spine ached from the thin mattress, but his head didn’t feel nearly as bad as it had the last time he’d woken up. “Big day?”

Techno glanced up at him as he pulled a brown paper bag from under his bed, and Fundy realized as his eyes adjusted that his cellmate had pink hair. “Oh. Right. I’ll explain later.” As he spoke, Fundy saw small fangs-- tusks, maybe-- on his bottom row of teeth, sticking out in a way he hadn’t seen the night before.

“You’re Piglin,” Fundy blurted before he could stop himself.

Techno blinked a couple times before drawing a thin, paperback book out of the bag and pushing it back under the bed. “So I’ve been told.”

Fundy’s cheeks went red. He remembered Techno mentioning that the--  _ what did he call them? Hounds? _ \-- hunted hybrids, but his addled brain hadn’t quite put together the pieces. He wasn’t afraid of Techno, per se, but being locked in a cell with a Piglin, hybrid or not… he cleared his throat, looking at the ground.

When he looked back up, Techno was staring right at him. His eyes were dark. Unreadable. That wasn’t an issue Fundy usually had with others.

After a beat of silence, Techno opened the book to a marked page, breaking his gaze. “You could probably get them to move you to another cell. They’ve got a few that aren’t being used.”

Fundy wished the earth would swallow him. So much for not turning allies against him. He opened his mouth to say something, to assure Techno that he wasn’t afraid, that he didn’t care if he was Piglin or not, but a loud bang echoed down the hallway. Fundy recognized it from the night prior.

“Up and at em, kids!” There came the noise of locks clanking open as voices began to fill the air again. 

Fundy looked back at Techno, who was stooped over on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots. He finished, then pushed his book under his blanket and stood. “C’mon, get dressed.”

“Oh-” He leaned over the edge of his bed, quickly pulling on his own boots, which looked noticeably more scuffed from his flight around the city. “Where are we going?”

Techno approached the cell door as a man stepped in front of it, and all thoughts of Techno being a threat fled Fundy’s mind. The man was nearly three heads taller than the boy, and nearly three times wider. He practically filled the doorway. 

The man unlocked the cell door, sliding the bars open, and Techno stepped outside. He looked back at Fundy for a moment, and he quickly slid off the bed, following suit. 

Fundy stepped out of the cell, slowing a bit as he stared around.

Their cell opened into a large, domed tunnel, which had two floors of prison doors sunken into the cement walls all the way around, the upper floor situated on a balcony lined with iron railings. Dozens of teenagers, all clad in some combination of shirts, pants and boots, were all making their way to a heavy, metal door at the end of the tunnel, which cut off in a flat wall. 

Techno nudged Fundy’s shoulder, forcing him to stumble forward and move with the crowd.

“Techno?”

The other boy didn’t look down, but replied, “Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

Ahead of them, the door slid open, and the crowd of teens pressed forward, and for a moment Fundy was reminded of the crowds on the city streets.

“Underground,” Techno replied. “Very far underground.”

The tunnel opened up into a large domed area, twice as high as the tunnel and big enough to fit a hundred cells like Fundy’s. Several doors branched off of the main room, which Fundy assumed led to more tunnels. Higher up in the air, the walls were lined with walkways and more doors, and catwalks criss-crossed the ceiling. The dome was full of plastic tables, bolted to the ground, and a multitude of mismatched chairs and stools. A few rectangular windows along the walls opened into a kitchen area, where something fiercely bubbling was being spooned into bowls. 

Techno started towards one of the windows serving food, leaving Fundy stranded in the crowd. 

Most of the teens weren’t as tall as the patrons in the city, but Fundy was still leagues below average height. He ducked elbows and avoided stepping on a few toes, and eventually made it to a table. He was fairly certain that his stomach was too upset to take food, so he sat down, pulling his knees to his chest and curling into the semblance of warmth that his coat gave him.

He felt bad for giving Techno shit earlier. He hadn’t meant to make him feel bad, but it was a bit late for regrets. So much for making friends.

He was thankful they didn’t take his coat. He didn’t see many others there with one, but the air had the same heavy, bone-soaking chill that the caves back home always seemed to.

He forced himself to look around, scanning the room for someone to talk to. Unfortunately, some higher being seemed set on ruining Fundy’s morning (not that it could get much worse). 

“Check out the foxboy!”

Fundy turned at the sound of a lightly taunting voice, searching for the owner.

Unfortunately, the owner seemed to be a well-built teenage boy with black hair and eyes that glowed a bright orange. Fundy hadn’t met too many hybrids in his short life, but he’d been to the Nether a few times, and he wasn’t too keen on Blazes. 

He cleared his throat, trying for a non-threatening face, and held out his hand to the boy. “It’s Fundy, actually.”

The boy, as well as four or five friends who had gathered behind him, laughed, a flighty noise that didn’t quite fit his image. “Is it?”

_ Just my luck.  _ Fundy wasn’t sure if he’d done something in particular to piss off the Blaze or if he would have been hunted down as fresh meat regardless. Either way, he felt like shark bait.

“I’ll leave you lot alone,” Fundy replied, making a move to get up. 

“Oh, come on, we’re always looking for new friends.” The boy nudged a girl standing to his left, grinning like he’d said something funny, which Fundy didn’t understand. As he saw it, the situation was entirely humorless. Maybe he’d missed something.

“Fundy!”

Fundy turned around in his chair with a start, staring as Techno set down his bowl at the table. His voice had seemed light enough, but his eyes were locked on the Blaze behind Fundy.

He looked over his shoulder at the other teenager, who had taken a step back. His grin had faded, replaced with something… wary.

“Problem here?” Techno asked, tilting his head slightly to one side, braided hair tumbling smoothly over his shoulder. 

“No problem,” the other replied shortly. His eyes glinted gold. “We were just leaving.”

“Always glad to hear that.” Techno sat down, leaning back in his chair. The Blaze backed away, starting to turn.

“Good luck on your match, Pandas.” Techno said it with a friendly air, but Fundy detected a hint of venom in his words. The other- Pandas, Techno called him?- scowled, baring sharp canine teeth, turning on one heel and storming away into the crowd. Techno made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a laugh. He didn’t look at Fundy until the posse was swallowed by the throng of hybrids.

The cellmates sat in tense silence for a few minutes; Techno stirring his food with a black plastic spoon, making no move to take a bite, and Fundy picking at a small hole in his jeans, wishing his hair was long enough to cover his eyes.

“Thanks.” Fundy cleared his throat.

“You need to be careful around here,” Techno responded.

“Why? Where  _ are  _ we?” Fundy didn’t want to press the situation any more than he already had, but he was desperate for answers. 

Techno stared into his bowl, the ghost of a scowl furrowing his eyebrows. 

“ _ Techno. _ ”

“Fundy, I’m really not the best one to-”

“Tell me.”

“You’re not gonna be happy when you-”

“I’m not happy now.”

Techno’s jaw twitched, and he pushed a strand of pink hair behind one ear. 

He muttered something, and Fundy was sure he hadn’t heard him right.

“What?”

“It’s a fighting ring,” Techno spat, as if the words were hot in his mouth. “Like a dogfighting ring, but they kidnap hybrids off the streets. That’s why you’re here. That’s it.”

The familiar silence settled over the pair again. Techno pushed his bowl away, scowling.

Fundy wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It seemed like some kind of mixture between shock, fear, and numbness. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing the rising panic in his throat to recede.

“You said today was the big day. And just now, you told that kid good luck on his match. Is there a fight today?”

Techno nodded, eyes locked on the table.

“Who else is fighting?”

“Pandas, the kid who you just met, he’s won seven fights running. He’s fighting Karma, a ghast hybrid. They usually put Nether mobs together.”

“How many do you have to win?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many do you have to win to get out?”

Techno stood up suddenly, the legs of his metal chair scraping against the cement. “No more questions.”

“But-”

The older boy took off, marching at a quick pace towards a set of stairs climbing up the wall, leaving Fundy to chase after, hot on his heels.


	4. Thousand-Yard Stare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! CW for violence on this one. This chapter is longer than the others; I considered splitting it up to match the length of the others but then I'd probably have to add more onto it... Either way! I hope you enjoy!

Techno climbed up to the third-tier walkway. The stairs were more like a ladder- steel slats climbing upwards at a steep angle, riddled with rust and dents. The whole thing creaked like a death trap, but Techno seemed to trust it.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.”

The third floor was unpopulated by guards and hybrids, since the walkway was mostly visible from the ground floor. Techno led Fundy up the stairs, their heavy footsteps echoing heavily around the concrete walls, and stopped in front of a heavy-looking door. A thick chain was looped through the iron handle, locking it tightly.

“See this?”

The door was difficult to miss, to say the least. “Yeah, I see it.”

“This door goes straight to the surface.”

Fundy turned to look at Techno, who was studying the chain. “Really?”

“I’m nearly positive. This is where they bring in food, medicine, a bunch of supplies for the guards. It has to go to the surface. I’ve seen them bring in tons of boxes through this entrance. I know almost every outlet of this place, and this is one of three they use to bring stuff in. One is in the hallway by the Pit, and one is in the hallway next to the infirmary, and then there’s this one.”

Fundy stared at the door. It looked the same as most of the other ones he’d seen so far, minus the chain, but if Techno was right, it was the escape. His escape.

“Techno?”

“Fundy, you don’t have to ask before you speak.”

“Right. How long have you been here?”

Before he met Techno, Fundy didn’t think it was possible for a person to make silence sound threatening.

A shrill, piercing alarm cut through the air, ringing off the walls. Fundy jumped a mile, instantly clasping both hands over his ears. Techno said something that Fundy couldn’t make out over the blare, turning back towards the stairs. Fundy cast a final, longing look towards The Way Out, then followed.

The Pit was a giant ring, stamped deep into cement, covered by a mesh iron net strung in a dome arching over the hole. The pit itself was maybe twenty feet in diameter, about nine or ten feet deep, if Fundy’s general guesses were close. The actual ring opened into the basement of a shady bar, two stories underground and two stories away from the prying eyes of anyone who would care. Underground, in a narrow circle around the Pit, a little area that Techno called “the Box” was provided for the hybrids. The ceiling of the Box was about a foot higher than the floor of the Pit, and the opening that went all the way around the ring was covered by thin wire fencing. The Box was cramped, dirty, hot and loud. In short, Fundy’s worst nightmare.

If someone had told Fundy that going into the city to buy potions would lead to him hyperventilating in an underground dugout, watching two teenage hybrids beat the shit out of each other for the sake of some humans’ fight club, Fundy probably would have stayed home.

The basement was entirely filled, maybe forty or fifty grown men stomping their feet and shouting. The Box was no better: dozens of dirty, scrappy kids clinging to the wire fence and screaming at two people that might have been their friends in another life.

As it turned out, Pandas was a vicious fighter, a whirlwind of fists and anger. The fighter he was pitted against, Karma, was about two inches shorter, with a shock of silver hair. He was more solidly built than Pandas. He was quite good, too, but he didn’t match Pandas' fury, his fiery demeanor that seemed to fill the Pit with heat. In fact, Fundy thought Pandas might have actually been generating heat. Whenever the duo moved closer to where he stood, he could feel heat radiating from them, warming his face. Both were drenched in sweat. Karma was bleeding from his nose. The danger was palpable.

Techno wasn’t shouting like most of the others, but his eyes were trained intensely on the fight. When the duo had first entered, Techno had bent down a bit to Fundy and shouted over the noise, “ _my bet is on Pandas._ ” That had been the last thing he’d said before pressing his back against the Box’s wall, letting others have the front spots closest to the fence. Fundy had moved closer to the window to get a better look, but as the Box filled up, he had been forced almost all the way against the wall.

Whatever Karma was doing, it could barely be called fighting. He was on constant defense, arms held up on either side of his head to block Pandas’ flurries of punches. Every so often he would break to throw a few punches before being quickly beaten back into flight.

The adrenaline of the fight was nothing short of exhilarating. Fundy felt slightly sick thinking that, but the noise, the clamour, the desperation of the shouts of the people all around him, burrowing into his heart and making it pound out of his chest-- it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. For a moment, Fundy wondered if they’d cheer for him like that.

Pandas pinned Karma. It happened in a heartbeat-- a sweep of the legs, a crunch of shoulder against concrete-- before Pandas dropped to his knees, pinning Karma’s arms to the ground, and began to whale on him. The noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar, and Fundy found himself floating.

He could see blood on the ground.

He wondered if Pandas was going to stop.

_How many do you have to win to get out?_

When the buzzing in his ears faded, he became aware of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Techno, who looked… concerned. Or, at least, what Fundy imagined that expression would look like on Techno. He blinked the haze out of his eyes, looking around. The crowds inside the box had dwindled, a few stragglers sticking behind.

The Pit was empty, save for blood splatters strewn across the concrete.

“Where were you?”

Fundy looked back at Techno. “What?”

Techno tapped Fundy’s head lightly with one finger. “Where did you go?”

Not for the first time that day, Fundy found himself at a loss for words.

Techno led Fundy back to their cell, making sure he didn’t fall behind. The route back to the cell tunnel was convoluted, but Techno navigated the halls and openings innately. Fundy wondered dimly why the guards trusted the hybrids with such a degree of freedom. Oh, right. There was no way out anyway.

Fundy collapsed on his bed as soon as they were inside, pressing his face into the mattress. Techno dug his book out from under the blanket, sitting down. “Do you do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Zone out.”

Fundy rolled onto his back, frowning at the ceiling. A singular spider sat on the concrete, immobile. He exhaled slowly. “Uh… I think so. I don’t think I usually notice when I do it, it just kind of happens, y’know?”

“Hasn’t anyone mentioned it to you before? You looked like you were in another plane of existence.”

“I don’t see a lot of people,” he mumbled.

“What about your parents?”

Fundy’s ears twitched, his hair standing on end. “What about them?”

Techno looked over the top of his book, giving Fundy an exasperated look. “Haven’t they said anything about it?”

“I don’t _live_ with my parents,” he retorted sharply. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt somewhat sore about Techno bringing up the topic.

“Wh- you’re, what, twelve? Thirteen? What kind of thirteen year o-”

“Can we not do this?” Fundy sat up suddenly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stare at Techno, who seemed surprised. “I don’t want to talk about my parents, and I’d prefer if you don’t ask about them again.”

Techno raised one hand in surrender, the other one still holding his book. “Okay. Yeah, whatever you want.”

Fundy fell backwards onto his bed, eyes searching for the spider. It seemed to have disappeared. He did not find that comforting. “What are you reading?”

One corner of Techno’s mouth turned up, and he cleared his throat. “The Art of War,” he replied. 

Fundy laughed despite himself. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” Techno flashed the cover at Fundy, who shook his head. 

“Why? Studying up for the war?”  
“Ha, ha. Funny. No, I just think it’s interesting. The author has a way with words.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift.”

“From who?”

Techno reclined until he was lying on his side, holding his book in front of his face, obscuring it from Fundy’s view. “That’s a story for another time.”

It was only fair. Fundy supposed if he could snap at Techno for asking about his family, Techno was well within his right to shut Fundy up in turn.

A few minutes later, a guard came by, wordlessly sliding the barred door shut and locking them in.

“Why do they give us free rein?”

“Hm?”

He scratched at his ear, frowning at the door. “They just let us walk around and do whatever we want. Why?”

“Why not?” Techno shifted, the mattress creaking. “They know we can’t escape. If someone tries, they’ll just--” He stopped.

“They’ll what?”

“You know,” he responded. “You know what they’ll do.”

Fundy knew. He wished he didn’t, but he got the picture.

“There’s nothing to stop them,” Techno continued, his voice dropping in pitch. “They can do whatever they want. Everyone who knows about this place makes money off of it, or would be incriminated in its downfall. Every single one of them has a reason to keep this as far underground as possible.”

“I got it.” The familiar pit in Fundy’s stomach had reopened, the heavy feeling that felt like cotton in his throat and lead in his stomach and water in his ears. “I get the picture.”

Techno fell silent, letting his book fall closed and watching Fundy.

“Okay, so what about teaming up? If a lot of us, or all of us, were to try to escape all at once--”

Techno shook his head. “Never gonna happen. This place poisons people, Fundy. It makes you hate people. If you lose a fight and survive, you’ll never be able to talk to that person again. You think you can bash someone’s head into concrete for a paying audience and just get over it?”

Fundy swallowed, curling up and pressing his back to the wall.

Techno sat up, his fingers digging into the pillow beside him. “It’s the perfect situation, really. It’d be so easy to ally if we didn’t all hate each other so much.” He laughed bitterly, his voice taking on a dark tone. “I’d kill some of the people in here before helping them escape.”

Fundy’s heart skipped a beat. “You don’t mean that.”

Techno’s eyes flitted to Fundy, seeming to snap out of a sort of trance. “I- uh.” 

Fundy leaned forward, staring at his cellmate. “Techno.”

Techno seemed to have found something interesting on the floor. “You haven’t been here long. You haven’t- you just- you don’t get it.”

Fundy’s jaw tensed, and he narrowed his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t get it. And I would _never_ kill someone.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Eventually, Techno picked his book back up, and Fundy set about to scowling at the wall, twisting his sheet between his hands, plotting an escape in his mind, one where he fled the underground and ran back to the forest, back to his cabin in the woods where the sun warmed the wooden floors and the air smelled like fresh bread, where the moon rose over the lake and set over the pine trees, where it snowed three feet in winter and got warm enough to sleep on the roof in the summer, where he could finally breathe again.


	5. Bonding, Or Something Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some bonding for the soul, perhaps?

The next several hours were entirely uneventful, which would have been nice if it wasn’t for the whirlwind in Fundy’s head. It didn’t help that Techno had seemingly turned him the cold shoulder. The Piglin hybrid sat on his bed, facing the wall, entirely engrossed in his reading, red blanket draped loosely about his shoulders.

It wasn’t that Fundy couldn’t understand where Techno was coming from. He understood hostility, the holding of grudges, the breaking of trust, it was all familiar waters. What he  _ couldn’t  _ understand was the inability to push all of that aside for the sake of pure decency. 

_ How far would you have to be pushed to do that to someone? To hate someone so much that you would take their life before helping them?  _ Fundy pushed the thoughts down. It didn’t matter, anyway. He wouldn’t have to find out. 

Fundy had no plans to fight.

Screw Techno. Screw stupid humans and their stupid cities and their penchants for causing pain. He hated every last one of them. He was going to leave and never come back.

Unfortunately, that seemed easier said than done.

He stood, stretching, his mattress making an obnoxious creaking noise as he got up. Techno seemed to tense at the sudden noise, but didn’t turn to look at him. Fundy approached the bars, placing his forehead against them, staring out into the cell block. He remembered from his few ventures into the block that the cells were somewhat staggered, placed at intervals back and forth across both walls, but if he got close enough to the bars he could see both of the cells across the room to the left and right. He couldn’t see any residents, though. He mentally jotted down a reminder to check if there was anyone in either cell.

“What are you looking at?” Techno’s low voice cut through the silence, making Fundy jump. 

“The other cells.”

“What for?”

Fundy turned, scowling at Techno’s back. “Maybe I’m looking for a conversation partner.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

He sat down on his bed with a bit more force than was probably necessary. Techno’s unshakable-ness might have been an act, but the monotony that he seemed to surround himself with was certainly irritating.

Somewhat disconcerting, too. 

“You’re hard to talk to.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Fundy swung his feet back and forth, scuffing the toes of his boots on the cement in a rhythmic stutter. “Don’t you have emotions?”

After a beat of silence, Techno let out a long sigh and turned to look at Fundy over his shoulder. “We have a conversation. You don’t like what I have to say. You snap at me. I take this as an indication that you no longer want to talk. Four hours later, you try to strike up conversation again. Do you  _ see  _ why I’m avoiding you? Avoiding _this_?” He gestured vaguely between himself and Fundy.

Fundy scowled down at his hands, picking at a nail to avoid looking at Techno. He felt bad for snapping, but it seemed justified. In fact, it still seemed justified. He wasn’t sure quite why he felt bad-- it wasn’t like he owed Techno any particular kindness. 

Then again, he could have easily been worse to Fundy. He had shown him around, walked him through his first day, talked to him after he had a nightmare (as desperately irritating as that had been).

“So what do you want me to say?” Techno turned back to the wall. “I’ll leave you alone. It’s no skin off my back.”

“Your hair,” Fundy said suddenly. 

Well, that certainly got his attention. Techno turned back around, raising one eyebrow. “My hair?”

“I like… your hair.” Fundy could feel his inner organs melting from embarrassment. He hadn’t really meant to say it, but he was looking for something,  _ anything,  _ to keep Techno talking. The silence in the cell felt oppressive. Heavy.

“Thank you?” Techno’s attention was now fully focused on Fundy, dark eyes glinting in the dingy lantern light.

“I mean-- the braid.” Fundy motioned dumbly to Techno’s head. “Did you do it yourself?”

Techno’s bewildered expression had thawed somewhat, settling into an expression of barely-concealed fondness. “Yeah.”

Words died in Fundy’s mouth, and her looked back down at his hands. He cursed his mind for being so incapable of conversation, but he supposed that was just a side effect of being a forest-bound recluse.  _ Say something, anything- _

“Want me to teach you?” 

Fundy’s gaze snapped up, back to Techno, whose mouth had turned up slightly at one corner.

“Yes- yeah. Yeah, that would be cool.”

Techno climbed out of his bed, sitting down on the floor. Fundy copied him, sitting on the cold cement cross-legged. Techno carefully extracted a part of his hair, pulling it free from the braid and letting it hang down in front of his face. “So you start by sectioning it into three parts--”

He showed Fundy the left-over-middle-right-over-middle pattern, doing it a couple times until Fundy insisted he had the hang of it, then let Fundy try. The first few times, he messed up, hopelessly knotting Techno’s hair, but after the fourth or fifth attempt, he got the pattern down, painstakingly threading his pink hair into a tiny braid. 

“Not bad,” Techno commended, his smile just big enough to show the tips of his sharp teeth.

“That takes forever,” Fundy complained, massaging his fingers, which were tingling from keeping the braid pinned in place.

“Not if you’ve got practice,” Techno replied, leaning back against the side of his bed.

“Okay, then you do it.” Fundy did the same, stretching his neck. His back was already stiff from sitting on the floor, but he didn’t really mind. As obnoxiously meticulous it was, Fundy liked braiding Techno’s hair. The constant pattern and looping of the hair made his brain quiet down into a comfortable hum.

Techno squinted at Fundy for a moment, as if deciding whether to take out his braid to prove his intolerable cellmate wrong was worth it, before sighing, pulling the rubber band out of his hair and letting his hair tumble free.

Fundy’s eyes widened a bit as Techno shook out his hair and combed his hands through it. Out of the braid, his hair was even longer. If he was standing up, Fundy would have guessed it would’ve fallen to his waist.

Techno pulled the hair over one shoulder, deftly pulling it into three parts and starting to weave them together. He made it look deceptively easy, fingers passing the strands to each other like a loom or a well-oiled machine. 

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Techno stopped for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. “My father taught me to do it. He used to get so angry, because I’d go running through the woods and get mud and leaves and grass in my hair, and it would take forever to wash and clean, so he said it was more manageable to keep it like this.”

Fundy blinked. “The woods?”

Techno nodded, already close to finished with his braid. “I grew up there.”

Fundy wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Techno had never mentioned growing up in the city-- for that matter, he hadn’t mentioned his childhood at all-- so there was no reason for Fundy to assume he had always lived in the city. Still, it was strange to hear Techno say it.

“So did I,” he agreed, watching Techno loop the rubber band around the end of the braid. “Wait, show me how to do that--”

About an hour later, after their conversation had faded into a comfortable lull and they had both huddled back into bed, blankets wrapped tightly around them to block out the damp chill, they received their third guard visit of the day. Techno seemed in no rush this time, waiting for the guard to move on before unfolding from his blanket and reaching for his boots. Fundy hadn’t bothered to take his off after coming back from the fight, which Techno had complained about for some fifteen minutes ( _ You’re gonna get all kinds of dust and grime in your sheets. We don’t get showers enough as it is, you might as well try to keep your bed clean _ ). 

“Where are we going?” Fundy braced for some absurd answer, which wouldn’t be out of line considering the day’s events, but Techno simply responded, “Dinner.”

The duo made their way out of the cell. As they left, Fundy glanced into one of the cells visible from their own. For some reason, he was surprised to see that it was occupied. There was one girl, with short, light-colored hair, sporting a black shirt, jeans with mismatched patches on the knees, a dark blue jacket and boots that Fundy quickly clocked as hiking boots.

Techno caught him staring and elbowed him. “That’s Niki.”

Fundy quickly looked away before the girl-- Niki-- caught him as well. He had noticed other girls, sure, but they all looked rough, rugged and muscular. Niki certainly didn’t look like the fighting type, not by a long shot.

“She’s a rabbit hybrid.” Techno answered Fundy’s unspoken thought.

“A rabbit?” Fundy cringed at the doubt dripping from his voice.

“Sheesh, kid, with that attitude you might as well go ahead and condemn yourself too.”

“What’s that supposed to--” One look from Techno silenced Fundy’s offended jab.

“She’s fast. Like,  _ really  _ fast. Whoever lines up matches always ends up putting her with people bigger than her, and slower by that measure. She’s won two fights, one a-”

“Do you just have mental tabs on everyone here?” Fundy prodded as they moved into the atrium, nose twitching at the smell of something emulating chili. His stomach grumbled. 

“Not everyone, but it’s not every day you see a rabbit hybrid that can-- y’know-- actually fight.”

Fundy shrugged. He supposed that was fair. 

Techno led him to one of the cafeteria counters. The mixture stewing in the massive, industrial-sized pot actually looked and smelled rather good, a mixture of beans, rice, meat and veggies engulfed in a reddish-brown broth. Both boys took a bowl, heading off towards the same table they had sat at during breakfast. 

“Is this usually where you sit?” Fundy stirred his bowl, working up the courage to take a bite.

Techno pointed up at the third-story walkway with his spoon. “I usually sit up there. By the door I showed you.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Not a people person.”

Decent answer. Fundy finally gave in, taking a tentative bite of the… chili? It burned his tongue for a moment, still steaming hot, but once it cooled down enough for him to taste it, he was surprised at how good it was. Techno must have noticed his expression, because he said, “They have to keep us well-fed. If we were all sick and hungry, we wouldn’t fight very well.”

Fundy scarfed down his bowl in five minutes flat. Techno watched in amusement, not talking for once to let him eat in peace. “Don’t make yourself sick.”

The two talked for some fifteen minutes, Techno telling stories about almost everyone that passed by their table. With every minute that passed, Fundy became more sure that Techno really  _ did  _ have tabs on everyone in the ring. He found himself becoming more relaxed, bantering with Techno more easily, firing back at every jab. 

Things were going surprisingly well-- until Techno’s eyes darted over to Fundy’s left, locking on something as his face fell. Fundy knew who it was before he even turned. He felt a hand lock onto his shoulder, and he turned, staring up into the face of Pandas, the day’s victor. His right eye was ringed with a faint purple bruise, and his bottom lip was split, sporting a nasty red wound, but otherwise he hardly looked any worse for the wear.

“Evening, boys!” His victory seemed to have made him braver. He grinned widely at Techno. “Enjoy the show?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Techno answered coolly. “I would’ve liked to see you get pummelled a bit more, but I guess you get what you pay for.”

Pandas’ grip on Fundy’s shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. “Oh, and you  _ have  _ paid, haven’t you?”

“I’ve paid about a dozen times over, yeah.” Techno leaned back in his chair, eyes glowering dangerously. 

“And what about your friend?” The posse of hybrids that seemed to follow Pandas collectively snickered, sounding not unlike a pack of hyenas. “Has he paid yet?”

“He will,” Techno answered, eyes still focused on Pandas. Fundy felt his heart drop into his stomach. What the hell did  _ that  _ mean?

“Now seems like as good of a time as any, doesn’t it?” Pandas clapped Fundy on the shoulder, and Fundy felt his pulse quicken.

“Let’s not make a scene.” Techno hadn’t made any shift in tone or temperament, but Fundy felt a slight change in tension. Maybe Pandas felt it too, because he took the smallest step backwards, fingers still digging into Fundy’s shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Fundy registered that that was the same place the man had gripped him when he dragged him down that alleyway. Was that only two nights ago? Maybe that was why the spot was so sore.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Fantastic.”

“But you know it’s tradition. He’s going to get it at some point.”

“Why don’t you politely  _ fuck off _ ?” Techno spoke the words with such hushed venom that Fundy thought he might have misheard him.

Pandas hesitated for a moment, before letting his hand drop to his side. “So you’ve adopted the foxboy, huh? Never took you for a softie, Blade.”

“Leave.” Techno’s eyes had darkened to such a degree that Fundy felt palpable rage in the air, sending his alarm bells into a swinging frenzy. “Now.”

Pandas laughed, although it sounded ever-so-slightly forced. “Enjoy your meal.” With that, he turned, taking his crew with him. For the second time that day, Fundy watched him recede into the crowd until he was swallowed by the clamor.

“What was th-” Fundy turned back around, cutting himself off as he realized Techno had already gotten to his feet, marching off towards the staircase-stepladder. He cursed under his breath, quickly clambering out of his seat, tossing his plastic bowl into the trash and half-jogging after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Not sure how many chapters this is gonna have, but I'll be updating it pretty consistently, so stay tuned!


End file.
